


{Don't Touch}

by showmethehotpods



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bob Being Nasty, F/M, Possessive Behavior, pennywise - Freeform, robert gray - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22166662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmethehotpods/pseuds/showmethehotpods
Summary: First rule for working under Bob Gray: Nobody Touches The Goods.Dummy knows that rule quite well, knows how to play the game. But sometimes, other people forget.Robert Gray doesn't like to share his dolly.
Relationships: Robert "Bob" Gray/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	{Don't Touch}

Dummy had always loved performing.

Even if it wasn’t something she necessarily had a _choice_ in the matter about, there was something so _freeing_ about being on the stage. Having people’s eyes on her, doing something that brought them entertainment. It was impulsive, it was _fun,_ and that wasn’t something in large supply in any of her _other_ activities. 

Sometimes, people would approach her afterwards, or if they saw her wandering around the circus grounds aimlessly, and tell her what a good job she’d done. How _convincing_ her act was! Some would call her talented. Some would call her _beautiful._ Praise wasn’t something she really understood, but she appreciated anyway. It would make her smile. She would thank them if her mouth wasn’t bound, or mime the actions graciously if it was. There was always the occasional question about her mouth - whether it was taped, sewn shut, or simply _not there at all_ \- but even if she’d _wanted_ to answer them, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

**That was a big _no-no._**

Another big no-no was any fraternizing, so Dummy never got to ‘talk’ to customers long after a show, if at all. But sometimes, they were _persistent._ After all, she was an obscurity. A point of interest. And apparently, _pretty._ People had told her that before, but she’d never paid it much mind. It wasn’t really all that important. Pretty made no difference to how she performed, to how she carried out tasks for him. But they’d still say it, and stare at her skin-tight costume in a way she didn’t understand, similar to how _he_ would look at a potential meal. _Hungry. But for what?_

There’d been a few times, Dummy had been approached. Once by a lady from something called _Social Services,_ and another time, by a policeman. He’d been quite nice, actually. Very kind and friendly with his questions, but as was always the case, Bob Gray would interrupt, and then they would _leave._ They would _all_ leave. Things like that seemed to happen, when Bob Gray was involved. Things like that would happen, when _she_ was involved. Friends certainly didn’t last very long. She could scarcely remember the last time that she’d _had_ one. 

One time, a man had visited her a few times after a show and let her play with his hair. It’d been curly, like hers, and smelled like expensive shampoo. He’d asked a lot of questions, liked holding her hands a lot. Spoke quite fancy too, about taking her away from the circus to someplace far nicer. Then one day, just like that. He was gone. Strangled. Found in the river the next day, grey as a stone and hands torn off like something had _eaten_ them.  
  
When Dummy had asked about it the next day, asked questions that she already knew the answer to, wanting to know if she’d done something _wrong,_ wanting to know if he’d done something, and _why,_ it was always the same response. Looking at her with that dead-eyed flat expression, until the corners of his lips would lift, stretching into a full blown grin bordering on _manic._

_“Why? You want to know **why?** Because, silly girl. Touched my things. **Nobody** touches my things. Have you forgotten? Do you need a **reminder?** Apart from killing every stupid little man, woman and child who comes **near** you?” _

And again, after every time one of this _hiccups_ would happen, Dummy would sit on his lap, his fingers digging through her hair and pulling her in any direction he’d pleased. Fingers tracing all over her old bite-scars. Sometimes, he’d open them up again. Memories would fade away, dissolve in the blinding light, and she would _float._ Tomorrow, another day, as if nothing had _ever_ happened. 

_Taking out the bad.  
**Keeping the good.**_

_“You’re **my** dolly. Since the very **first** day, and until the very **last.”**_

_"Mine.”  
_

_**“MINE.”** _


End file.
